Kate's scream pierced the night as my Glock's barrel pressed against her collarbone. The small silver cross at her throat trembled with each panicked breath under the moonlight.
"David..." Her pupils mirrored my contorted face, "Sleepwalking again?"
I let my arm drop, adopting the shuffling gait of a PTSD patient toward the palm grove. Crushed shells screeched beneath my combat boots like pulverized bones. As dawn's first light fractured the horizon, I collapsed beside the radio equipment in feigned unconsciousness.
Emma woke me with charred boar meat, grease sizzling on the makeshift grill. Daisy crouched amidst communication device components, her fingers weaving Kevlar fibers salvaged from life raft emergency kits.
"New technique." I lifted her knotwork with a tactical knife, "Alpine butterfly?"
Daisy's eyelid twitched—her telltale memory retrieval tic. Kate leaned closer, "Three times the load-bearing capacity of yesterday's."
"Military-grade parachute cord standard." I confirmed. Emma's Gucci scarf fluttered in the firelight like crime scene tape.
During watch rotation, I arranged Molotov cocktails into defensive matrices. Hyena laughter echoed through rotting meat stench, but the true predator lurked in the fuselage shadows—Jack's wing fragment spear gleamed like a shiv in moonlight.
Emma's touch startled me more than gunfire. Her Narciso perfume mingled with corpse stench into perverse pheromones: "Didn't tell princess about our...private session?"
"You deserve an Oscar." I disassembled the satellite phone, its military-grade circuit board revealing honeycomb scarring from the crash's electromagnetic pulse.
She suddenly bit my screwdriver-holding finger: "Know why I nailed Black Widow?" Blood seeped into steel threads, "Because I've actually killed."
The receiver's static screech saved me. Daisy sprang up like a lynx, tactical flashlight beam locking onto the flickering screen.
"GPS module intact!" Kate shrieked at the blinking coordinates. Emma's celebratory kiss burned my wounded finger—pain more visceral than desire.
At dawn, Daisy bound Jack to tidal rocks with paracord. Rising tides advanced 15cm hourly—an improvised waterboarding simulation.
"Signal transmission requires 48-hour stable power." I assigned tasks while monitoring Jack's swollen eyelids, "Kate cleans solar panels, Emma..."
"Scouting route." The starlet brandished her Maserati-key-turned-machete, "Research for Cast Away 2."
When helicopter rotors finally thrummed, Daisy was weaving bear traps for bipedal predators. Jack bared teeth at approaching aircraft while Emma hid bloodstained coral in her Dior clutch.